<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Thistles &amp; Weeds by Kingbird</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27086122">Thistles &amp; Weeds</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kingbird/pseuds/Kingbird'>Kingbird</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Spirits of the Past [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Legend of Zelda &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Western, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, Multi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 02:35:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,130</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27086122</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kingbird/pseuds/Kingbird</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They say once the Goddesses drowned evil beneath the waves. Now they have reached to strangle it with famine and drought. Left to wither, Hyrule and its allies retreat to what few bastions of water and shelter remain. Living on one of the last verdant patches of land on the wild frontiers of the Spirit Tracks, Links seeks peace from his bloody history. But while Link would be content to ignore the rising darkness in Hyrule, it may not be content to ignore him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Link/Malon (Legend of Zelda), Link/Sheik (Legend of Zelda)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Spirits of the Past [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976017</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The basis of the writing is from 2016, but I've been gently editing it into something a little prettier. Please note the tags, this will be a bit darker than its predecessor. It will also make more sense if you've read Dustbowl Dance, but I suppose it could be standalone.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The seasons passed, the years went by.</p><p>Link was freed at last, and the records of his crimes were sealed by the Royal Court. Malon greeted his return with the deed to the land Link had sacrificed so much for, and they packed up their sparse belongings- all fitting in a single wagon, pulled by two horses, and then made their way out of the city. Their son, just turning seven, was enchanted by first the rolling, dusty dunes and the lean jackrabbits that his mother was so easily able to pick off with bow or pistol for dinner. They did not stop travelling until the barren earth turned to golden prairies, and then those buckwheat hills to lands so lush and verdant one could barely believe their eyes. Daphnes had never seen such greenery, save for in the gardens of the Royal Castle. But Link had known that the farther they went from Hyrule's borders, the more the land flourished. He'd instructed Malon where to buy the land, and now, at last, after everything they'd been through... here they were.</p><p>They settled at their plot, on the banks of a pristine lake. Within a few months more would arrive, settling on the banks of the nearby river, within sight... but just barely. In Link's mind, this was ideal. Close enough for an emergency, far enough that he didn't need to fuss with nosy neighbors. Link's introduction to the town was the wild, pale-eyed man arriving at the post office to buy the lands surrounding his with a rare star fragment. And then he traded his two tired horses for cattle, and his wagon and some other raw materials for a plow. He was an enigma in their eyes, but whatever Link had been once, now he was a farmer. </p><p>And then he began his work in earnest, tilling the rich earth. A cabin was built from packed-earth bricks, with blood sweat and tears. And while Link and Malon worked hard to build a home, Daphnes, at last, was allowed to grow up wild and unworried on the vast gold prairie.</p><p>Link saw sometimes, the Sheikah who passed by through town, ensuring all was well-- but it was maybe once a year, and as things settled, and a human sheriff took residence, they stopped coming by altogether. Link finally stopped looking for them. It was never going to be Sheik.</p><p>The earth turned crop eventually, golden fields of wheat and corn, a barn was raised some years later, Malon now reluctantly in the sidelines with another pregnancy. The night the roof went on the barn, she gave birth to a girl-- Aryll. Now more deeds were bought-- pasture for fat cattle, as well as two sturdy ponies-- one for each of his children. Link seemed to have no inclination to ride again, but leaned on the railings and watched his two kids and their foals have the run of the pastures, tearing through the countryside with the recklessness of youth.</p><p>Their parents still had much to teach them. Malon taught them to handle a bow better than Link had ever managed. And it had been she who had first taught Link the old songs which still held magic, and kept even wild-eyed deer from panic. She passed her knowledge to her two children. Aryll never quite got the hang of it, too filled with wild energy to bring peace to anything else. Daphnes though inherited both parents' gentle hand, and it wasn't an odd sight to find him amidst the tall grass on the outskirts of their acreage, with the wild antelopes or hares grazing around him peacefully. </p><p>As for Link, Link taught them how to tell when something was done growing, when to water and when to let dry. He showed them how to help the calves when they were born, held Aryll in his lap as the first one of spring took its first tottering steps. And when they were old enough, he took them in front of the barn, well within sight of their mother, and started to show them how to handle a sword-- with sticks of course. The result of which was more hilarity than any serious learning, but it seemed to ease Link's mind that they knew how to keep themselves safe.</p><p>Aryll came thundering back home on her colt one evening, awash with tears for having bloodied the nose of a boy, and Link did his due duties of riding out to town to ensure that all parties were well and all parents aware of the scuffle. He found the injured boys' parents more concerned for the cold-eyed farmer's family than for their own offspring, it seemed. Didn't Link worry, they asked, that Aryll did not act so ladylike? But Link was swift to let them know he'd never had much of a mind for what constituted the latest fashions of gentlemanly or ladylike behaviors. Aryll did not act like a lady. Aryll acted like Aryll, and that was all he needed to know. </p><p>And in the end, all was forgotten and forgiven. Link's family was of a good sort to have around; Malon had a way with beasts, and Link had never heard of turning away someone who needed help. The children were friendly, and played often with their neighbors, and at the end of the day on these fringes of society, those were really the tenets that mattered. </p><p>But the peace was not to last. Link had been coming in for lunch when he saw Riders on the horizon, headed up the beaten dirt road towards the house. He walked out to meet them, already expecting trouble. They were dressed too nicely, but didn't smile enough to be salespeople.</p><p>They wanted his land.</p><p>He laughed at them, told them no, and waved them off.</p><p>He slept that night, with the shotgun beside the bed, and called the dogs closer to the house.</p><p>There was a second attempt, and then a third-- and then after that third time, a fence was mysteriously half-demolished, scattering the herd across part of the woodland. Perhaps they thought he'd be afraid to cross into the mountains... but Link'd never had many issues with rounding up a few cows, even after all these years, and the fence was mended soon enough. But... he knew. He knew that wasn't the end of it.</p><p>They offered again, this time all smiles, and he pulled the gun on them, forcing them to back up before they set foot on the road. The mayor said later he should have shot them.</p><p>But while Link did not give in, one by one mysterious ill happenings befell the townspeople. Tainted wells, escaped cattle, wolfos raiding barns in the night. Fathers and hunters disappearing into the woodlands. Slowly but surely the people began to flee, shops closing, the town becoming deserted. The smiles of the salespeople grew, but Link did not abate. This was his home. The home of his family and he wouldn't leave it for any bully, great or small.</p><p>A field burned. Aryll cried over one of the dogs when it was found, poisoned. </p><p>Link's jaw set tighter and tighter until one offer ended in violence, both men having to limp off, one with a broken arm to show for it, shouting their curses.</p><p>After that... it was quiet. Weeks went by. Other stubborn farmers were left alone. The smiling men were seen riding out a few days later, and things fell back into an uneasy routine. </p><p>Months passed, and what had happened seemed behind them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>violence &amp; death warning here u_u</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>And then he awoke one night to pain.</p><p>There was a thunderous explosion- like lightning opening up right upon the cabin, and then nothing but burning. He had stumbled out of bed, eyes searing, hearing screaming and roaring and cracking. He saw shapes-- humanoid figures, but also not, which dropped down on all fours, charging towards him amongst the embers. He had no time to really react before one of the monsters was upon him, catching him with shadowy claws.</p><p>He heard screaming, young, childish-- Aryll? Daphnes? He shoved back at the monster, heart hammering, ignoring the pain. It worked, somehow, and he half fell, his searing shoulder slamming into the ground as he pitched forwards. His eyes met Malon's blank ones, glazed over, fires reflecting in them even in death.</p><p>He sprang with a howl that was in no way human, somehow finding the power to daze the shadowy monster with his fists. he wheeled away- the door was closed, for some reason. He slammed his shoulder into it, the charred wood half giving. The screams grew louder, but the fire was brighter, the smoke thicker. The heat was unbearable. The monster was getting to its feet with enraged sounds of its own.</p><p>He clawed his way through the doorway, and his hands, burned and seared as they were, closed on the wood axe near the cast iron stove. He buried it into the faceplate of the beast behind him and then tore into the front door. There was a shout from outside.</p><p>"Dad!" It was Daphnes, sounding desperate and hoarse. </p><p>How had this happened? How had they done this? How had he not woken until now? </p><p> He half broke through, realizing that boards had been nailed over the frame. He clawed at them, seeing out into the cold winter night, the snow staining sooty black, circled with hooves, lit orange and gold with flames. Daphnes broke free, running for the house. And then- there was a resounding crackAryll screamed. Link roared. Daphnes crumpled like a marionette cut from its strings. </p><p>Link slammed his shoulder into the doorway again. He thought he felt it give-- but there was a sound from above, a sickening splintering groan. He had only a moment to look up, and the whole ceiling came down.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Awareness came slowly, in singular sounds and feelings. His fingers digging into snow and soot. The smell of fire and ash permeating everything. Pain. So much pain. He dragged himself, bit by bit, out of the rubble. He found the strength to push himself up, impossibly, his limbs trembling. His eyes were blurred, everything hazy, but he finally dropped again by the body half-obscured by the snow.</p><p>There was a thin layer of white overall, settling into tracks from horses' hooves, stained pink from the blood it had covered. The house, the fields, the barn-- it was all still smoldering behind him. His skin burned, his body on the verge of giving up. Still, he reached with a blood-smeared hand to touch the frozen cloth of his son's shirt before collapsing entirely, dragging Daphnes a little closer so his head rested on the dead teen's shoulder as sobs shook him. It hurt to touch anything, but he brushed frost from red-gold hair still, like he had on wintry days out in the fields.</p><p>He was like that for hours, as the predawn light breached over the horizon, pale and wan through snow-heavy clouds. A bluish light cast over him, a slight musical hum, and Link's eyes cracked open. He let out a ragged, hoarse laugh. "You're late," He croaked at it, the faerie settling over the back of the dead boy's shirt, as though it were still going to try. But... there was nothing to be done. He'd been dead before he'd hit the ground probably. The mote rose, before flitting around him, a rare display from the increasingly rare fairies.</p><p>His pains eased, burns closing up. He sat, letting his heart beat for a few moments, staring out over the smoking ruins of his home. He got up, mechanically, headed back into what remained of the house. He didn't feel the charcoal on the bottoms of his feet. He found a shovel, somehow, only damaged by soot, not totally consumed. He dug it into the earth a few yards away.</p><p>By the time he was able to move Daphnes into it, and cover it, the sun had long risen. He cast through the rubble of anything of Malon but... there was not enough. The fire, or explosion-- whichever-- had started in the bedroom, and there was [i[nothing[/i], a crater, ash only. He stood there for another hour before his mind began jerking into aborted trains of thoughts, his emotions finally beginning to resurface again.</p><p>Now, now it was anger. His dull blue eyes swept up to the town-- where a column of smoke also rose, and a cold knot formed in his chest. Was anyone there? Bandits? Looters? Those responsible, there to lord over the remains? His jaw set, and he started to move, step by step, slowly gaining composure and assuredness as he moved.</p><p>He was going to find out.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>